


and let me correct it

by savetheclaypots



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Episode: s15e09 The Trap, Established Relationship, Feelings, Fluff and Smut, Getting Back Together, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Post-Episode: s15e09 The Trap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:07:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22366882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savetheclaypots/pseuds/savetheclaypots
Summary: They’re in the hallway about to part for the night when Dean makes a decision. He steps closer to Cas, slowly – careful since it’s been a while since they were last like this. Cas doesn’t back away, doesn’t add any distance between them, though he looks at Dean with curiosity, a trace of hope and a challenge in his eyes.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 144





	and let me correct it

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is probably one of the most self-indulgent things I've ever written. I admit I was tempted by that MoC!Cas angst, but sometimes one just wants some warm and fuzzy feelings -- even in this economy. Probably canon divergent. Like...maaaaybe. 
> 
> Anyway, hope y'all like it! 
> 
> Also on [tumblr](https://curioussubjects.tumblr.com/post/190411521091/and-let-me-correct-it).
> 
> [title from new perspective by panic! at the disco --yep, self-indulgent.]

* * *

The hushed sounds of the bunker are loud around them. Dean can hear the buzz of electricity from the lights and the generator, feels alive with it. The lights in the hallway aren’t particularly bright, making the angles of Cas’s face soft. It’s been too long since they’ve been this close, and Dean’s fingers itch to touch him. They’re in the hallway about to part for the night, so Dean makes a decision. He steps closer to Cas, slowly, carefully and with baited breath. Cas watches him move, but doesn’t back away, doesn’t add any distance between them, though he doesn’t move closer either. Instead, Cas looks at Dean with curiosity, a trace of hope and a challenge in his eyes. Dean licks his lips and sees Cas track the movement, purposefully. It’s easy then to lean in, to wait for Cas to meet him halfway. The kiss is a careful thing, incongruent. Neither of them make a move to make it more intense; the moment feels fragile. Dean doesn’t want to push his luck because they’re still reeling from purgatory, from Chuck. They still have more to say to each other, more to fix. But he wants to kiss Cas again, has missed how he feels and how he tastes.

Cas sighs into it and pulls Dean closer, his hands settling warm on Dean’s waist. Dean relents willingly, needs to be close and closer still. Feels their apprehension steadily falling away. He moves a hand to Cas’s jaw, to angle him just right. Lets his other hand move further, so he can run his fingers through Cas’s hair. And Dean loves kisses like this, slow and focused – not heated, but no less overwhelming. Dean struggles to remember the last time him and Cas kissed this way, were this caught up in how to touch and be touched. Dean relishes in it, in how Cas’s lips are chapped and dry, but have a softness to them that Dean has long grown addicted to. He lets himself get lost in it, knowing Cas is doing the same by the way he holds Dean tightly and nips at his bottom lip.

But when Cas walks them backwards, slightly, towards Dean’s bedroom door, Dean forces himself to break the kiss, to pull away just a little. Dean hadn’t had a plan beyond a kiss in the half-light of the hallway. He’s not opposed to what Cas seems to be suggesting, as if he could ever be, but he doesn’t want to derail their progress by getting carried away now. With his voice rough around the edges, Dean says:

“I know we still have to-”

Resting their foreheads together, Cas nods. Dean is about to ask if they could talk in the morning, maybe grab some lunch or – but he loses his train of thought at the sound of Cas clearing his throat.

“Later?”

For a second, Dean thinks of saying no. Of gently pushing Cas away, saying they need to talk before they resume any kind of normalcy in their relationship. Except Cas is so close, and he’s so distracting when he nudges Dean’s nose. Not demanding anything, he does it just to be tender. And Dean gets it because there’s been enough violence between them. Every soft touch they share is a discovery, a wound healed. Besides, they need some solace, and they’ve found it in each other more often than not. So Dean doesn’t pause whatever it is they’re doing, doesn’t say they should wait until they have no more secrets to share or hurt to dole out. The bunker feels suddenly warmer and brighter than it has in months.

“Yeah, alright.”

Dean guides them the rest of the short way into his bedroom, encouraged by the steady hold Cas has on him. Opening and closing the door is simple with them trading lingering touches and an errant kiss. Yet, when the door shuts, and the only light comes from under the door and the display on the clock on the nightstand, it’s easy to get lost in the push and pull of undressing and the marvel of exposing skin. In remembering how to touch after months of absence. There’s no grace in their movements: they are tugging at each other’s clothes and stumbling in the dark.

~*~

They find a rhythm soon, hips rocking together. Heat builds slow and steady with the slick slide of their bodies. In the endless span of skin and the press of fingers and lips. Dean feels drunk on it, his senses overrun with how solid and warm Cas feels beneath him, the way he smells, and the litany of sounds he makes against Dean ear. He is lost in the way they move together, muffles a groan against Cas’s neck at the sting of blunt nails running down his back, at the way Cas tugs at the short hairs at the nape of his neck, allowing him to bite the bolt of Dean’s jaw. So then Cas can trail his lips across Dean’s cheek until they kiss, open mouthed and sloppy. They know how to do this, know how to read their bodies, and move together. They know how to move until they lose focus, with racing hearts and panting breaths.

Their movements grow erratic; Dean is sure he has embarrassing nonsense spilling from his lips, knows Cas hears it all by the press of his hands and the fondness in his eyes. It’s not unusual that moving like this is enough to tip them over, hips grinding together in tight thrusts. They hold hands sometimes, above their heads, when it’s hard to breathe. When it’s so good they can barely see straight. But there are times when Cas needs more friction. Needs to move more freely, even if he’s the one pressing Dean into the mattress. Dean can tell, knows by the way Cas makes impatient noises in the back of his throat. It’s unsurprising that he pushes until Dean is on his back, watching as Cas straddles his hips and looks like he could stare at Dean forever. It’s difficult not to squirm under the attention. Even after years together, Dean isn’t quite used to it, kinda hopes he never is. And really, he can’t be sure he doesn’t have the same look on his face because Cas is gorgeous like this: with a flush running up his chest and his eyes bright, even if framed in shadow. Dean pulls Cas down against him, can’t stand the distance. Whispers _c’mere_ and gasps against Cas’s lips when Cas wraps a hand around them both.

~*~

Cas falls heavy on him, after. Tucks his face against Dean’s neck. Nuzzles. Dean thinks his heart is going to burst, and he hates himself for almost giving this up. For almost letting it fall away into nothing. He wraps his arms around Cas, not caring about the mess spreading between their bodies. Kisses his temple, breathes him in. Cas kisses his Dean’s collarbone in response, and sighs his contentment. Dean can’t help asking then, directly and not cushioned in deflection:

“Stay?”

It’s quite for a while, and Dean tenses with regret. Braces himself for the inevitable. Cas tugs at his hip, so Dean turns on his side. He keeps his eyes open, looks at Cas and tells himself the earnestness he sees there is not a sign of apology. The second before Cas answers is long and fretful.

“Tonight?”

Dean licks his lips, feels his throat closing up, old alarm bells go off in his head. He powers on, he can do this. Dean makes it slightly easier on himself by closing his eyes, resting their foreheads together:

“And the next.”

“And the next?” And Dean knows Cas is smiling, can hear it in his voice.

Dean lets out a breathless chuckle in disbelief that maybe it’s that easy. Relief floods his whole body, and he feels a little foolish for doubting. Maybe it’s not complicated at all,even if it actually is in practice. Even if they bicker and fight and sacrifice. Even if they don’t tell each other things they should, or if they struggle to break old habits. But the certainty of another night, and another, and another make the ugly parts smaller, insignificant in the feeling that blooms in Dean’s chest and takes roots in his body: a shriveling thing waiting to come back to life. Dean knows what this is, knows the love he’s felt for years and tried to keep away from the light. He grips Cas’s waist, his hip, pulls him closer. Hums his assent because he’s choking on the thought that this isn’t just something he gets to have again, but gets to keep – for good this time.

Cas holds him close, thumb running against Dean’s cheek; he brings their lips together, soft and soothing.

“Dean,” he breathes. “ _Yes._ ”

Dean opens his eyes and they smile at each other. They know tomorrow will be less kind and tender than this. And yet it changes nothing. It doesn’t change the words bubbling up Dean’s throat, words he’ll save for now. For after. For another night, and, hopefully, another morning. Afternoon, if they’re lucky.

“Okay. Okay,” Dean says, instead, softly. It’s as much acknowledgment as it is reassurance: that whatever comes, they have this. Always. And Dean knows Cas will stay here with him, in their bed, even if he doesn’t really sleep. He knows the morning light will find them still wrapped up in each other.


End file.
